


Pearls, Plaids, & Pistols

by AnOutlandishFanfic



Series: Pearls, Plaids, & Pistols [1]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Childbirth, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 10:54:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19375270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnOutlandishFanfic/pseuds/AnOutlandishFanfic
Summary: The premise: Jamie sends Claire thru the stones to save her and their child from the destruction Culloden will bring to the Scottish Highlands. But, there’s a catch: Jamie goes with her. Oh, and a double catch? They haven’t returned to Claire’s time.





	1. When

Something had a firm grip around my waist, pulling me down into the the depths of the darkness. I fought it. Kicking and clawing, I tried to free myself from its grasp. The movement only made it hold on tighter. A second arm wrapped around me, sending a shuddering thought thru my mind.

How many did it have?

Visions of a giant octopus lurking in the murky shadows made me scream. The sound of my voice was lost amid a sudden swell of noise. Thousands of voices came from all around me. They shouted my name, crying for help.

The voices themselves grabbed at me. Tiny fists, plucking at my sleeves and skirts. They had teeth too. I swatted at them, like one would a bug, but they would only come back stronger the next time. The more I screamed, the faster I fell.

With an impact that knocked the air from my lungs, I landed flat on my back at the bottom of whatever it was I had been pulled into. The arms instantly let go of me and the voices stopped as suddenly as they had begun. Drawing my knees to my chest, I rolled onto my side. My equilibrium steadied as I struggled to breath.

A bright light pierced thru the darkness, followed by a voice I recognized. It wasn’t screaming like the others, yet it held a definite tone of desperation.

It was Jamie.

My heart thundered back into action as I tried to make sense of what had just happened.

The stones. I had just fallen thru time.

Was I hearing him thru the stones or was he here with me?

I tried to sit up, but the arms were back again, pushing me to the ground. They were solid, strong as iron. I sank my teeth into the one around my shoulders and the beast growled at me.

“A dhia, Sassenach! Cuir stad!”

The last remnants of darkness drifted away with the wind and I realized it had not been a multi-armed monster clinging to me, but Jamie.

“Please tell me you’re real,” I begged as I stared up at my very bedraggled husband.

“Real? I dinna ken what real is after tha’, but, aye, ‘tis me.” He countered, his head turning to take in our surroundings. “Where are we?”

Still trying to catch my breath, I answered “I think the better question is, when are we?”

“Ye mean this isna the future?” His head snapped back to stare at me.

“How am I supposed to know? All I can see is you!” I huffed.

“Aye, ye can see me, Claire. Tha’ means we’re on the same side of the stone,” Jamie grinned. The reality of it all pressed down on me just as much as the full weight of my husband did.

“That’s wonderful,” I wheezed, “but if you don’t move, you’re going to squash me.”

He hoisted me to my feet, apologizing profusely. I could see him better now and was impressed that he could even stand. His clothes were smoldering, a large burn showing thru on his upper thigh where his plaid had completely burned away. I inspected him for further injury and found several smaller burns. “What on earth happened to you?”

Jamie looked completely astounded at the question, “Ye tell me! One minute ye’re touching the stone, and the next thing I know, I’m on fire and ye’re still here!”

“I don’t think we’re still anywhere, Jamie.” I commented, looking at the trees around us. “I think somehow you went thru with me.”

“Aye, I thought as much too.” he agreed.

“But when?”

The concern was back in his eyes in an instant, “This isna your time?”

“The trees are all wrong and you could see Inverness over there.” I shook my head, pointing.

Where there should be a bustling metropolis, there were only acres upon acres of forest.

“Jamie,” I took hold of his arm and voiced the question that had just came to mind, “What if instead of going forward in time, we went further back?”


	2. Marcus

Jamie and I crouched low amid the underbrush at the base of Craigh na Dun. A cold wind swept thru the valley, the scent of coming rain heavy in its wake. I pulled the woolen arisaid tighter around my shoulders as I peered thru the leaves into the gathering darkness.

Recently thatched and boasting a brilliant coat of whitewash, the croft ahead of us barely resembled the abandoned structure we had spent the previous night in. A puff of welcoming smoke drifted out of its chimney and beckoned us forward. I, however, had vivid memories of my first encounter with the people of the past and had no wish to repeat the ordeal. Jamie seemed to be erring on the side of caution as well.

But, before we could make any sort of plan, the door suddenly opened and a weather-worn old man stepped out of the dim interior. He shuffled towards us, leaning on a large walking stick for support.

I gripped Jamie’s arm tightly. Would he be friend or foe?

“Ye can come oot o’ the bushes, lad,” a feeble voice spoke. “I can see ye both clear as day.”

Jamie rose slowly, ready for whatever challenge the man would lay at his feet. I followed suit once he had settled into position in front of me. Peeking around Jamie, I could see the man’s gap toothed smile.

He was ancient by modern standards, who knew how old he actually was. His hair was white as snow and fastened back in a long plait. His kilt was of a pattern I didn’t recognize, a matching plaid draped over his hunched shoulders. The boots on his feet were worn and roughly hewn.

“Ye havena reason to fear me,” he chuckled. A corner of my mouth tugged upwards as I envisioned the old man using that stick of his to ward us off. “I ken aboot the stones.”

The hint of a smile was gone in an instant at the mention of the standing stones.

He knows about the stones? What did that mean?

They were hardly a secret, visible here at the base of the hill.

Jamie reached a hand behind him and took hold of mine. I squeezed it, telling him I’d follow any plan he went with. He cleared his throat, my own felt as though I had swallowed a rock.

“Ye say ye ken the stones. Have ye gone thru them yerself?”

“Nae me, lad, but I ken the look of someone who has. My name is Marcus…” he trailed off, raising a brow in question.

“James,” my husband answered simply as he guided me to stand along side him, “and Claire.”

I copied the older man’s nod of deference and was rewarded with another grin.

“Aye, an’ a bonnie wife she is too, Jamie lad,” Marcus tittered as he gestured for us to follow him into the croft. “Ye’ll be hungry as the coos, nae doubt, an’ soaked clear thru. Come in, come in. Warm yerselves by the hearth. An’ tend that wound, aye?”

I took a deep breath and let it out again. Was this too good to be true? Could it be some sort of trap?

Jamie’s voice dropped low as we made our way across the clearing towards the croft.

“Dinna speak unless ye have to, Sassenach, at least until we have a plan.”

Oh, right, because he may think I’m an English spy. Here we go again.

I rolled my eyes, but squeezed his hand again in response. He gave me that slow, owl blink that passed for a wink with him and grinned. He knew exactly what I thought of the idea, preposterous and rude is what, but he also knew I trusted his instincts. Even if I wasn’t sure I liked his methods.

Despite his uneven and visibly painful gait, Marcus was deceptively spritely. He remained several paces ahead of us across the open clearing and didn’t stop talking the whole way. His voice, unfortunately, didn’t always keep up with his enthusiasm and I couldn’t make out half of what he said.

“…welcome… long as ye like… village … oddity… auld coot off on his own… fine company,” he broke off with a cackle.

Once inside, he set to work with a clatter of bowls and spoons. He all but shoved the both of us onto a three-legged stools near the fire. I reached over to take a better look at his leg, moving the wool cloth away from his burned flesh.

Jamie tried to downplay his injury, taking my hands away from the burn and holding them tightly in his. “‘Tis nothing, Claire.”

While he was right, the burn wasn’t overly serious, I still wanted to dress it before it had the chance to get infected. I gave him a look, knowing he’d get the message.

“I ken ye must be newlyweds.” Marcus beamed, not turning his gaze away from the steaming cauldron of stew. “Let her dote on ye, Jamie lad, makes a wife feel useful. ‘Tis what they’re for, aye? Tha’ an’ the bairns.”

He was doing his level best to keep a straight face, but the grin was winning. I poked Jamie in the ribs as he replied affirmatively.

Arching an eyebrow, he apparently felt the need to remind me to remain silent.

Heaven knows why, as I’ve always been the meek and obedient type. I reminded him with a swift kick to the shins.

Jamie winced and his grin widened.

“How long have ye been marrit? It canna be more than a year, I warrant, yer both naught but bairns yerself.”

Jamie’s thumb caressed my silver ring, turning around on my finger. His eyes were warm as he spoke. “It will be three come June.”

Three years. How could our wedding day have been three years ago already?

That familiar sinking feeling in my stomach returned as I corrected myself: our wedding hadn’t been three years ago, it would be hundreds of years from now. All people I had known, the people I had grown to love and care for were, for all intents and purposes, dead. And Jamie. His family, his whole life was now forever lost to him.

Quickly realizing that the feeling had more than one cause, I dashed towards the door, barely making it outside in time. Jamie was right on my heels and almost crashed into me as I heaved into the bush beside the door.

“Bidh e thairis a dh'aithghearr, mo nighean donn,” he soothed as he held back my hair, gently rubbing my back.”

“What?” I asked as I straightened up, having no idea what he just said.

He wiped my face with the edge of his sark, then gathered me into his arms. “I said it will be over soon.”

I groaned into his chest. “No, it won’t. Not for months.”

“Aye, well, maybe ye won’t be as sick with this bairn,” he tried.

“One can only hope,” I muttered.


	3. 1543

“This isna yer lassie’s first time thru the Stones, is it?”

Marcus’ question made the blood drain from my face. Jamie’s hand found mine under the table, steady and strong. “No,” he drew out the word, “it isna.”

Who the hell was this man?

I knew my face was often an open book, but last time I checked, I didn’t have the words “time traveler” stamped across it.

How much did he know and how did he know it?

“Yer a Scot, born an’ bred from the look o’ ye, but she isna.” 

“Ye’ve had some fine learnin’ and maybe been a place or two, but this bonnie lass?” He nodded his head in my direction. “She’s seen the world, I warrant. A world that doesna exist yet, aye? My own wife ha’ the look aboot her.”

His wife. He was married to someone like me. That made sense.

A chill ran down my spine as I realized there wasn’t a hint of a woman’s presence in the croft. She was obviously wasn’t living here, but why? What sort of demise had she met?

Maybe Jamie’s caution wasn’t so unfounded.

Jamie leaned forward, his eyes focused intently on the old man in front of him. “Yer wife is from the future?”

“Oh, aye. 1923 ‘twas the year.” He puffed like a proud rooster.

The year my parents were killed.

The chill solidified into an icy lump, sitting like a rock the pit of my stomach. It was just a coincidence… wasn’t it?

“What is yer wife’s name,” Jamie squeezed my hand reassuringly.

I ken, dinna fash, he said.

“If I may ask?”

“Aye, ye may, Jamie lad. Her name was Sìleas.” Marcus’ eyes grew misty as his smile wobbled a bit. Cecilia Anne Hamilton Grant.”

It wasn’t my mother. I didn’t know why I had hoped she might have been, but let out my breath, not realizing that I’d been holding on to it. It had been a coincidence.

“Four years past I buried her now, ‘twas back in ‘39. ” he added, almost as an afterthought.

Which would make this ‘43, but of what century? Not the eighteenth. Aside from that, anything before it was possible.

Jamie said something low and respectful in Gaelic. I assumed it was the equivalent of “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“A dhia!” Marcus’ fist came down hard on the table, making me jump out of my skin. “Ye willna ken when ye are, will ye? An’ me blabbin’ on aboot this an’ tha’!”

He sat a little straighter, a storyteller’s gleam brightening his eyes.

“'Tis aboot mid April, the year o’ our Lord fifteen hundred and forty-three.”

Two hundred years. It always was two hundred, blasted stones.

“An’ the King?” Jamie asked.

Of England or Scotland? I didn’t think two were joined yet. Not for another - what - fifty years or so?

“A bairn for a queen,” he chuckled, then caught himself and added reverently, “God save her.”

Bloody hell.

We were just in time for the whole Mary, Queen of Scots fiasco. The swift uptick in my husbands pulse told me he remembered his history well.

Just our luck. We traded one political upheaval for another.

***

Marcus spent the remainder of the evening speaking to Jamie as though I either couldn’t hear or understand him. I supposed that would be the logical explanation for my not speaking a word since the moment we met, but playing the mute was quickly becoming frustrating not to mention demeaning.

There was a large, low mattress in one corner, as was typical of most Highland crofts. It slowly dawned on me that Jamie and I might have to share it with Marcus. Another wave a nausea threatened as I tried to communicate my thoughts to Jamie via nods and the telepathic language married couples were fluent in.

Jamie, the bed!

What of it?

Where will he sleep?

I dinna ken.

Well, figure it out!

Right now?

Yes!

Jamie cleared his throat as he gave me a look of amused annoyance and Marcus looked up from his woodcarving. “My wife grows weary. We dinna wish to be a burden on your generous hospitality, but…” He trailed off, leaving the situation in his host’s hands.

“Oh, aye,” Marcus rose from his seat and walked into a dark corner of the room. “Ye must be near asleep on yer feet, the both o’ ye. Ye’ll take the bed, if it suits ye, that ‘tis.”

He wandered back carrying a small, rolled up, straw mattress. Shaking it out before the hearth, he gestured to it. “I’ll be here if ye be needin’ anythin’ at all.”

***

Our host’s snores could wake the dead. This, however annoying it was, ensured that we could speak without fear of being overheard.

“1543,” I sighed.

Jamie pulled me closer, curling around me. “I dinna ken how ye did it, Sassenach, the first time.”

“I don’t know how I did it either, to be honest.” I said flatly.

“Nae, mo chridhe,” I could hear the faint smile in his voice, “That is how ye did it. Ye were honest. Ye stayed true to the person ye were, even if it meant risking your life.”

He made a soft noise of amusement in my ear, making me squirm. “An’ it did, more than once.”

“Not on purpose,” I protested.

“Umhmm,” came his standard, Scottish reply. He clearly didn’t think all my near-death experiences were purely accidental.

I turned to look at him in the dark, “So, that’s the plan? Just be honest?”

“As much as we can be, Sassenach. I’m tired of the plots and deception.”

“Where will we go?” I asked, studying his face.

Jamie’s voice was wistful, mournful. “Lallybroch doesna exist yet, nor Leoch.”

Hope stirred in my heart with a sudden thought, “What about Broch Tuarach? Or Broch Mordha? Surely there’d be at least a settlement there now.”

A slow, broad grin stretched across my husband’s face as he lowered his lips to mine.

“Aye, mo nighean donn, there would be.”


	4. Loch Ashie

Late May 1543; Loch Ashie, Just South of Inverness, Scotland.  
Claire.

We had left Marcus’ croft equipped with clothing, provisions, and a small purse of coins yesterday morning. Traveling overland by foot was slow going, but Jamie thought we’d reach Inverness within a few hours, well before nightfall. Our plan was to make a few connections within the city, find a decent horse to purchase with our meager gold, and then make our way to Broch Mordha.

I tossed a small pebble into the still waters of the loch, watching the surface ripple and settle back into complacency. It was warm for May and the sun was hot on my back. Lifting the thick plait off my neck, I let the gentle breeze refresh me.

Jamie seized the opportunity to place a kiss at the nape of my neck, his small scruff of a beard tickling the tender skin. I smiled as he murmured something in Gaelic in my ear. “I haven’t the slightest idea of what you just said, you know.”

“‘Tis easier to show ye than translate, Sassenach,” his voice was low as he pulled me onto his lap.

Movement on the loch caught my eye, and I spotted a distant boat. It was a small, rickety sort of thing. Two boys were fishing aboard it and one pointed in our direction.

“We have an audience,” I warned, not really wanting him to stop.

“Oh, aye,” he nibbled at my ear, apparently of the same mind. “Maybe we can teach them a trick or two.”

My lips found his as a giant splash sounded from the waters in front of us. One of the boys had gone overboard, judging by the solo voice taunting his friend. I paid them little heed and brought my arms around Jamie’s neck.

He suddenly tensed and pulled away as the voice’s tone changed from that of teasing to one of alarm. The boy was speaking in Gaelic, but a cry for help was universal. Jamie eased me off his lap, going to stand by the edge of the water.

A concerned question came from my husband and the answer made him hurriedly shed his kilt and boots.

“He can’t swim?” I asked as I stood and came beside him.

Jamie didn’t answer but plunged into the water. It was cold, judging by his reaction. The skiff was a good distance from the shore and it took Jamie longer than I liked for him to reach it.

What’s the fool doing on a boat in the middle of the loch if he couldn’t swim?

The boy had fallen off the far side of the boat and was hidden from view. Jamie rounded the bow of it, the sound of his movements masking those of the floundering boy’s. A few terse words were exchanged, presumably as they tried to decide if they could get the boy into the boat or if Jamie would need to swim back with him. An attempt was made to hoist the boy back into the boat, but it resulted in the other boy joining Jamie in the water and the boat flipping over on top of the trio.

A cry of concern escaped my lips. What if the other boy couldn’t swim as well? Jamie couldn’t possibly haul the both of them back to shore without drowning himself.

The thought had me tearing off my shoes and wading into the water as three heads came into view, this side of the boat. One was Jamie’s. I mentally let out a sigh with relief as I propelled myself towards them, hip deep in the freezing water.

Jesus H Roosevelt Christ, it was cold.

Considerably taller than the Other Boy, Jamie’s feet hit the bottom of the loch first as they made their way towards me. He lifted The Boy into a better position and I could tell he was unconscious. Jamie’s eyes met mine, alarm shouting at me across the water.

Finally within reach, I grabbed hold of the Other Boy, shoving him towards the shore. Jamie was wading now and had The Boy cradled in his arms. His head hung limp, eyes wide and unseeing.

I raced to keep up with Jamie’s long strides, my sodden layers of skirts weighing me down.

“Lay him down on the shore, Jamie.” I instructed, just behind him.

He did so as Other Boy and I crowded around him. My fingers searched for a pulse in The Boy’s neck. It was there, weak and thready, but he wasn’t breathing. I tilted his chin up and forced my own breath into his lungs. I lurched back, hoping for an immediate response and not wanting to be in the way of the flow of his stomach contents.

He remained still and lifeless.

Again and again I repeated the action.

“Breathe, damn it.” I muttered under my breath.

With a jerk, The Boy came to life. I turned him onto his side as he vomited and coughed.

Other Boy pulled him into a sitting position and hugged him fiercely.

“We need to get him warm,” I turned to Jamie, who was panting beside me.

He nodded, squeezing my hand as he was unable to speak just yet. His eyes communicated his words as loudly as though he had spoken them aloud.

Well done, Sassenach.

I could catch snippets of the boys’ conversation as Jamie set about to make a fire, my Gaelic rudimentary at best.

Bràthair. Brother. Alasdair. Alexander. Uilleachan. Willie.

So, the two were brothers. Now that they were in front of me, I could see the resemblance. The older of the two, Other Boy as I had dubbed him, was apparently Alexander and the younger, Willie.

Willie was getting an earful as to what his mother would have done to Alexander if something should have happened to him. That much was clear and needed no translation.

Jamie returned and spoke to the boys in Gaelic, urging the two to sit near the fire.

He guided me to my feet and gathered me into his arms.

“Christ, Sassenach, yer hands are as cold as ice!” he exclaimed after I reached up to brush a wet curl out of his eyes.

My teeth clattered as I retorted, “You aren’t any warmer.”

He pulled me towards the now raging fire and started to unfasten my skirts. I grabbed at his hands, looking around him towards the boys who were definitely watching this interplay. They’re eyes were huge and mouths slightly agape.

Jamie followed my gaze and gave the boys an order. The two grinned, but eventually turned around, their backs towards us.

He cocked an eyebrow, nodding towards my sodden skirts. I rolled my eyes heavenward and grabbed my airisaid off the pile of packs and discarded clothing beside me. Offering it to my husband, I stammered, “H-hold this up.”

Dutifully obliging, he held did so as I tried to undress with trembling fingers.

“Having trouble, mo chridhe?” Jamie’s eyes twinkled as he peeked over my privacy screen. I glared at him and dropped my wool skirt to the ground with a loud squish. He nodded towards my pack, asking “Can ye reach yer other dress or should I move?”

“If you so much as move an inch, James Fraser,” I muttered, my lips thawed enough to speak coherently, “I just might throw you back into the loch.”

Marcus had given me his wife’s clothing, having been carefully packed away in a wooden chest after her death. They were too large about the waist, but were a decent fit.

They won’t be for long, I thought wryly. My layers of skirts and petticoats hid the small bump of our growing child, but soon it would be evident to all. Come autumn, the gifted wardrobe would be too small.

Jamie lowered the airisaid as I tied my bodice into place, leaning over to give me a kiss on the cheek. I took his face in my hands and kissed him right back. “Go sit by the fire, mo nighean donn. Yer still freezing,” he grinned.

I lowered myself onto a fallen log near the fire and basked in its warmth. Willie and Alexander turned to look at me, their eyes wary but filled with curiosity.

“Feeling better?” I asked Willie, smiling at him.

He returned the smile, glancing at Jamie and then back at me.

“He’s my husband.” I explained, not sure why I felt I needed to. “I’m Claire, by the way, what are your names?”

I already knew the answer to the question, having eavesdropped, but felt it was a good place to start a conversation.

The boys just stared at me.

Jamie spoke to them from where he was getting dressed. It was a question and both boys shook their heads.

“They dinna ken English, Sassenach,” he explained.

“Really?”

He shrugged, “The further we get into the Highlands, the more it will be so.”

“Any idea who they are?” I asked and sighed with fatigue.

Jamie made, what sounded like, a round of introductions. I caught the words bean-chèile, which I knew meant wife, and my name, followed by his.

James Fraser.

It was the surname we had agreed to go with. We were on Fraser lands, after all.

The name lit a torch of recognition in the boy’s eyes and I felt my heartbeat quicken. They hastily introduced themselves, Alexander and William. The name Fraser was tossed around between all three of them and finally Jamie turned to me in astonishment.

“They’re the Lord of Lovat’s sons, Claire.”


	5. In the Still of the Night

Mid June, 1543; Beauly, Inverness-shire, Scotland.

Claire.

My shin collided painfully with something and I cursed under my breath. Movement from the bed behind me told me I had woken Jamie up, something I had been trying hard not to do.

“Are ye alright, Sassenach?” He asked groggily.

“Yes, I’m fine.” I grumbled, groping around to find the water jug in the dark.

I sloshed the liquid blindly into a cup and made my way back to the bed.

“Ye dinna sound fine,” his voice rose in elevation as he sat up. ”Is yer heart burning?”

“The term is heartburn, Jamie. It’s not actually on fire.”

It just feels like it.

I crawled gingerly back into bed, being especially careful not to spill the liquid relief. I hadn’t been able to purchase any of the herbs I knew helped relieve heartburn while we were in Inverness, and didn’t find any growing in our travels. This meant I was stuck with plain old water and patience as my remedy for this common pregnancy symptom.

My husband tipped his head back with a cheeky grin as I settled in beside him, his teeth flashing in the darkness. “No’ even for me, mo chridhe?”

I groaned at his attempt at a joke and poked him, resisting the urge to upend the cup of water over his head.

“Only for you, James Fraser.”

Jamie caught hold of my hand, kissing the back of it. “Jenny says tha’ means the bairn will have lots o’ hair.”

I snorted into the cup, taking a small sip. “He better.”

The mention of his sister made my heart ache. Having three children herself and my closest friend, I desperately wished I could talk to her.

“Go easy on yer mam, aye?” Jamie grinned while he spoke to the child within me, his hand finding the growing swell beneath my shift. “Ye dinna have to be boastin’ a full head o’ hair from the start, ye ken.”

He spoke to our child often and it never ceased to make me smile. Jamie had made a habit of telling the baby goodnight and good morning every day, although the baby never quite managed to stick to his father’s schedule. The growing child found the rising and setting of the sun irrelevant to his life in utero, sleeping or stretching whenever it suited him.

“Tell me about dinner with the Laird,” I urged, needing a distraction from my discomfort.

The Laird of Lovat, or more accurately his Lady, had invited us to Beauly for an extended stay, in order to properly thank us for saving their son’s life. We hadn’t been here long, having arrived at dusk and it being around midnight now, but they were already proving to be more than gracious hosts.

We we’re immediately shown to our rooms in order to freshen up, and I had promptly fell asleep.

I certainly hadn’t been my intention.

We were to be seated at the head table as guests of honor at dinner. This was an opportunity we needed to take full advantage of, something that could determine our lot in life here in the sixteenth century.

I had been loaned a spare gown for the event. It was a deep blue and patterned after what, I assumed, was the latest fashion in the Highlands. Unfortunately, once freed from my dirty clothes and a layer of filth was removed, my body refused to do my bidding. I sat brushing the same strand of hair for a good five minutes before Jamie ushered me to the bed. One moment I was arguing that I needed to get dressed, the next it was the middle of the night and I had heartburn.

Jamie shifted into a more comfortable position beside me and began to speak, “It went well, I think. They send their regards and wish us to remain at Beauly until the bairn is born.”

“But that won’t be for months!” I exclaimed. Hospitality was one thing but that seemed a bit excessive.

“Umhmm,” came Jamie’s Scottish acknowledgement. “They seem to be quite taken wi’ us, Sassenach.”

“And what do they expect us to do until then, just twiddle our thumbs?”

Jamie seemed to like that idea. His hands gravitating further south, thumbs tracing circles on my inner thighs.

“That’s not what I meant,” I squirmed.

“Oh, aye?“ His thumbs increasing in pressure and urgency.

I dribbled a little of my water onto his head and he laughed, kissing the place his thumbs had just left. “No’ just yet, mo nighean donn?”

“No,” I answered dryly. While that had proven to be a more than adequate distraction in the past, I didn’t think he’d appreciate being vomited on in the midst of intercourse.

He rolled back onto the pillow, his hands quietly resting on the swell of my abdomen as he got back onto topic. “I ken what ye mean. Frasers may be stubborn, but we dinna let an opportunity pass by when we see it.”

My brows furrowed in thought as I took another sip of water, “And just what sort of opportunity would we be?”

“The healer here is getting on in years, has the rheumatics something awful by the sound o’ it.”

Listen to him! I hid a smile behind my cup. Diagnosing patients all in his own.

“Ye’ve stirred up no a wee bit o’ clishmaclaver with your skills, Sassenach, and it seems the Laird and Lady see us as some sort o’ guardians.”

“What?” I sputtered, the water partially going up my nose.

He shrugged and took the cup from me as I coughed. “They willna come out and say it, but they think we have special powers.”

Jesus H Roosevelt Christ, not again.

“Wait, we?” I asked.

“It seems the lads saw my back… tha’ combined with the rescue and ye bringing Willie back from the dead…”

“He wasn’t dead!” I protested.

Jamie’s eyebrows rose.

“Well, not yet anyway.” I aqueased. “His heart was still beating.”

“Be that as it may, Sassenach, the lad wouldna be alive without us.” He said simply.

“They think we’re guardians, not healers?” I asked, wondering at the distinction.

An amused smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, “Drowning seems to be something ye save someone from, no’ heal them of.”

Good point.

“The fact that ye’re wi’ child has no’ escaped them either.” He continued.

Looking down at him curiously, I asked, “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I heard one woman speculate that ye’re Niamh herself.” He said with no small amount of amusement.

“Niamh?” The name didn’t sound familiar.

“A Queen of Tír na nÓg, the land of youth, who becomes pregnant with Oisìn’s child.”

“Which would make you Oisìn?” I inquired, completely intrigued.

“’Tis only a tale, and an Irish one a’ that.” He shrugged off the connection, “Although they do travel thru time, come to think of it.”

I stared at him, “You’re joking.”

“Nae, Sassenach, no’ at all. Oisìn spends, what he thinks is, three years in Niamh’s kingdom, but, when he returns to his own, he finds ‘tis really been three hundred and the people he knew are now that o’ legend.” He explained.

“Jamie, I spent three years with you in the past,” a chill ran down my spine, heartburn completely forgotten, “and now we’re with ancestors that we thought of as all but legend.”

The connections dawned on him as they had me, “'Tis no’ far off, is it?”

“A little too close for comfort.” I muttered.

We were silent for a time, each considering how the clan viewed us. I grew more and more uncomfortable with the notion of being thought of as something akin to a deity.

“So what exactly do they expect the Queen of Youth to do?” I set down the now empty cup near the edge of the mattress and snuggled down next to my husband, needing to feel his strong arms around me. “Or am I simply to be Laird’s new lucky charm?”

He pulled me close. “I dinna ken, nor do I think they ken, but they’re no’ about to let us leave until they figure it out.”

I groaned at the prospect of being watched like a hawk yet again, my every action dissected and discussed. “Please tell me you talked of other things besides our supposed supernatural abilities and origins.”

“Oh, aye,” he grinned. “We discussed his horses a great deal, would ye like to hear about that?”

With a contented sigh, I answered, “Not particularly.”

“Feeling better, then?” His eyes searched my face, needing more than words in confirmation.

My stomach growled loudly in answer. “I’m starving,” I added unnecessarily.

Placing soft kiss on the tip of my nose, he rolled out of bed. He lit a lamp, the warm glow illuminating his way across the room. Jamie picked up a large wooden tray laden with food and carefully set it on the bed in front of me.

“Mrs Gordon, the cook ye ken, wanted to be sure ye had food when ye woke,” he beamed, proud to supply the very thing I wanted.

I picked up the bannoch closest to me and took a bite. Trying to smile around my full mouth, I offered one to him. He took it and nibbled at it while he spoke, “She wanted me to tell ye tha’ she an’ her daughter are the midwives here at Beauly. The Lady Janet speaks highly o’ them, too.”

The food in my mouth seemed to turn to sawdust and I swallowed hard. Jamie seemed to guess the source of my discomfort, squeezing my hand with an attempt at a smile. I could tell he was trying desperately to hide it, but the fear was evident in his eyes.

I would need a midwife come November, wouldn’t I? I knew it would be different this time. Longer, more arduous, than with Faith.

I had assisted Jenny in the births of her daughters. My brain recited the stages of labor and delivery, reminding me that, while I knew how it worked, I was very unprepared to actually do it myself.

Terrified, was more like it.

But there was a nagging worry that preempted the fear of childbirth.

Crawling onto Jamie’s lap, I clung tightly to him, whispering his name into the darkness.

“Aye, mo chridhe?“ He murmured in my ear.

“What if it happens again?”

A shudder ran thru him at the thought that we could lose this baby too. “Ye havena had any bleeding, have ye?”

I shook my head, my face buried his neck. “But it’s early, I hadn’t yet then, either.”

“We willna lose the bairn, Claire,” his voice was steady, sure. “I give ye my word.”

The promise loosened the grip of fear around my heart, but the knowledge that miscarriages often had more to do with the baby than the mother’s actions kept the fear from dislodging all together.

“It’s not something we can stop, Jamie. If there’s something wrong with the baby, there’s nothing you or I can do to prevent it from happening again.” My words were desperate, my voice quavering.

He lifted me, turning me towards him so that the baby was pressed between us. My legs wrapped around him and held fast. The corner of his mouth lifted as he felt the baby move within me.

“Our bairn is healthy and growing within ye, Sassenach.” His hands cradled my face, his thumb caressing my cheekbone. “I give ye my promise, this time will be different.”


	6. Tuesday's Child (Claire's POV)

Monday, November 22nd, 1543; Beauly, Scotland.  
Claire.

Mid-day.

Jamie entered the room with our lunch and a cheery greeting. I arched my aching back as I reached my arms over my head and stretched in the large, feather bed. I mumbled something in reply, not fully awake yet from my third nap of the day.

At least, I thought it was the third. I wasn’t entirely sure if I fully woke up from the second. I certainly hadn’t left the bed between naps two and three.

The muscles of my abdomen cramped and a wave of nausea rolled over me. I had been having false contractions for a while now, but something had been off all day today.

This growing feeling of discomfort urged me to speak.

“Are you within the castle this afternoon?” I asked, trying to sound normal.

Jamie’s back was to me as he placed the tray on the table and began to set up our meal. “Nae, back to the stables wi’ me as soon as we’re done eatin’. Shall I bring ye anything special from the kitchens for dinner?”

Damn.

If the Laird had needed him within the castle, I could easily send for him if these mixed signals turned into anything of substance, but he was entirely too far out of reach in the stables.

I wasn’t sure how to ask him to stay without triggering some sort of childbirth panic alarm in my husband. Jamie had been hypersensitive to me this last week, ready to spring into action as soon as I gave the signal. If this wasn’t the beginning of my labor, I’d have a hovering husband and, quite possibly, an entire castle waiting for something to happen.

“I really wish you wouldn’t,” I sighed, while trying to think of a way to phrase ‘I think I’m in labor’ without actually saying ‘I’m in labor.’

“No’ hungry?” He turned, giving me a concerned look. “Ye should eat somethin’, mo nighean donn, or the bairn will complain, aye?”

The cramp strengthened, edging its way towards my lower back.

My voice shook as the feeling of discomfort within me inched closer and closer to pain. “I don’t think he’ll complain, he seems to be packing his bags at the moment.”

Jamie’s eyes grew large as understanding took hold. He stared at me, his mouth opening and closing silently like a fish out of water.

When he did find his voice, it was a good octave or two above normal. “Sh-should I fetch the midwife?”

“No!” I all but shouted. The last thing I needed right now was that decrepit old woman watching my every move.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I curled my legs up as far as they would go and pulled the blankets tighter around me. I heard him cross the room and kneel down on the floor beside me. His hand trembled as he tucked a curl behind my ear. Cracking my eyelids open just a little, I could see the panic in Jamie’s eyes. His chest heaved as he tried to remain calm.

“I think I’m having contractions, but I’m not really sure.” I whispered and brought my hand to his.

He leaned close, his nose brushing against mine, asking “Wha’ can I do, Claire?”

“Will you hold me?” All I wanted was to lay here and shut out the world, to feel his arms around me and take strength from his presence.

He crawled around me, easing himself into bed. I could feel every ounce of tension leave me as his body curled around mine. His arms, now steady and sure, gathered me close and I melted into him.

…  
Dusk.

“You’re pacing, Jamie.”

“Hmm?” He turned to me, mind somewhere else. “Oh, aye. I suppose tha’ I am.”

I hid a smile. My contractions were more than fifteen minutes apart and the pain was still manageable, but Jamie was coming apart at the seams.

His eyes refocused on the present and he grinned sheepishly at me. “Am I botherin’ ye, mo nighean donn? Should I pace in the other room?”

“If you so much as touch that door handle, James Fraser…” I threatened, not entirely sure what I would do.

The smile broadened as he held up his hands surrender. “I willna.”

A spasm began and I realized we hadn’t really talked about his part in these proceedings.

“Promise?” I begged.

“I promise I willna leave until ye tell me to.” He vowed as he bent forward to kiss me. “An’ even then, the midwife will have to tear me away from yer side.”

The idea of giving birth without him in the room had never crossed my mind. Even in my time, husbands rarely attended the births of their children and I expected it was even more rare in the sixteenth century.

“You won’t really leave, will you?” I asked, dodging his caress. ”I need you to stay with me.”

He looked entirely skeptical, “Ye willna want me here when–”

“I’m can’t do this alone, Jamie, not again. I can’t – I won’t – do this without you.” Cutting him off, I grabbed hold of him, desperate to make him understand. “Please don’t ask me to.”

“If that is what ye wish, mo chridhe, nothing on this earth will move me.” He assured me, his face held a hint of doubt that I would really still want him at my side a few hours from now.

I let him kiss me then, his touch full of support.

We would do this as we did everything: together.

…  
Around midnight.

“What are we at now?” I asked as a contraction gained momentum, trying to breath normally. They were in a definite pattern, each one a little closer to and stronger than the last.

Jamie checked the small pocket watch that miraculously had been in his sporran when we went thru the stones. “Tha’ was ten minutes between,” he answered as I gripped the back of a chair.

Swaying my hips slowly side to side, I tried to find relief from the pain. Jamie came up behind me and started to massage the spasming muscles of my lower back.

“Mmm,” I encouraged him. “Right there.”

The baby shifted suddenly and I desperately reached behind me for my husbands hands. I half pulled him in front of me, half turned turned towards him and buried my face in his chest.

“Jesus H Roosevelt Fucking Christ, this bloody hurts.” I groaned.

Jamie’s head lowered to mine, gently kissing the top of my head. “I’m sending for the midwife after this one is done, mo nighean donn.”

I nodded but didn’t speak.

We began to sway again, Jamie half singing, half speaking a sort of lullaby to me in Gaelic.

“Jamie?” I interrupted. “I love you, but you are a terrible singer.”

…  
About 4:00 am

“Damn,” I muttered as a stream of amniotic fluid ran down my legs. “Here we go.”

“Ye havena used that one in a while, Sassenach.” Jamie commented, nodding with approval as he stepped out of the way of the growing puddle on the floor. The midwife came over to inspect the discharge and clean the mess, moving us to the side.

Having just come out of a contraction, I was taken completely off guard as another followed quickly on its heels. “Fuck,” I groaned and pressed my forehead into Jamie’s chest.

He dug his thumbs into my lower back, rubbing slow circles into my taut muscles.

His voice was low and soothing, “I ken, a ghraidh, I’ve got ye.”

Like hell he knows.

I grabbed a fistful between his legs and squeezed hard. Jamie yelped, sounding something like a teenage boy going thru puberty. This made the midwife cackle with glee and my esteem for her rose about tenfold.

She spoke to Jamie and he muttered something in response as he held me at arm’s length.

“What was that?” I asked when I could speak again.

Jamie’s eyes, still wide with surprise, flicked from me to the midwife and back again. “She says she’s surprised ye havena done tha’ wi’ every pain.”

“You hadn’t said anything stupid enough to warrant it before now.” I cocked an eyebrow at him.

Another comment came from the midwife and I watched as my husband slowly turned pink with embarrassment.

I tried to smile, “You have to tell me what she said to make you blush like a schoolgirl.”

“She said tha’…” He paused, shifting from foot to foot, one hand going to the back of his neck. “Tha’ I must be a verra good lover for ye to want me here an’… tha’ I must have bawls o’ iron for no’ runnin’ for the heather a’ my first opportunity.”

I pulled his head down to mine and kissed him, the midwife sounding her approval from somewhere behind me. “She’s got one thing right. You are a verra good lover,” I mimicked his burr and he grinned, “but it’s your heart of gold that’s keeping you here.”

…  
Around 6:00 am

“Jamie,” I moaned, “I think want to lie down.”

We slowly made our way towards the bed, each step an effort. I leaned into Jamie as a contraction tore thru me. He held me steady at the side of the bed while the midwife prepared it.

I tried to find a comfortable position against the pillows, shifting this way and that, but was quickly becoming more and more agitated instead of relaxed.

“Sit behind me,” I implored Jamie. He carefully crawled onto the bed and I melted into him.

Perfect.

His arms came around me as he whispered in my ear, “I’m here, mo chridhe.”

Each contraction was bringing the baby lower and lower, the reality that I would have to push soon was beginning to sink in. Panic surged thru me and I tried to move even further backwards into Jamie, away from the midwife at my feet.

“I don’t want to do this, Jamie!” I cried.

He helped me move into a different position, but didn’t loosen his grip even for a moment.

“Aye, a ghraidh, I ken ye dinna, but ye must,” he crooned in my ear.

“No!” I shook my head, every fiber of my being rebelling against the growing swell of another contraction.

He shifted me in his arms until I could see his face One hand caressed my cheek as he kissed me. It wasn’t long, but filled with the assurance of his presence. The tip of his nose brushed against mine as he spoke, “We’ll do this together, aye? I’ll be yer strength when ye need me.”

“I always need you,” I whispered.

…

“I need to push,” I panted as the urge suddenly overwhelmed me.

Jamie translated for me and I saw the midwife shake her head, motioning for me to wait.

Damn it, I couldn’t wait.

“No with this one. She says ye are’na” he hesitated, trying to find the correct word in English. “–open– enough yet.

I groaned, the sound almost a growl at the back of my throat, and dug my fingers into Jamie’s leg as I tried not to heed to my body’s command. He pried them free and entwined his fingers in mine. I pushed against him as I felt the baby descend further into the birth canal. “Fuck!” I shouted.

He smiled, “Tha’ is wha’ got us into this mess to begin wi’, aye?”

“You bloody Scot,” I moaned as the contraction eased.

…

I had been pushing for what felt like hours and the baby still wasn’t here.

“He’s too big,” I whimpered. “I can’t push anymore.”

Jamie crooned in my ear, “Aye, mo nighean donn, the bairn is big, but he is almost here. All is well.”

All is not fucking bloody well.

“I want to be done.” I begged. “I just want to hold my baby, Jamie.”

He brought my hand down between my legs, brushing my fingers against the emergence of our child’s head. “Soon, mo chridhe, ye will hold him soon.”

As if his words triggered something deep inside me, a contraction started up and I gave it all I had left and then some. The midwife said something in an encouraging tone, helping me position my legs to do so again. Her voice rose in urgency as she nodded with approval.

Another contraction came on the heels of the last and I cried out with the force of it. The burning sensation between my legs turned knife-like, pulsating as the baby’s head began to crown.

“Wait, dinna push.” Jamie relayed the midwife’s instructions, his head next to mine. “Let the contraction do the work on this one, she says.”

I threw my head hard against him, digging my heels into the bed as I felt the baby’s head slowly leave my body.

“Well done, verra well done!” he praised. The midwife’s hands brushed against me as she said something and Jamie translated, “Jest one more an’ the bairn will be here, a ghraidh,”

With a final heave, my baby slipped into the world.

All the pain of the last twenty hours was gone in an instant, replaced with indescribable joy as I heard my baby cry for the first time.

The midwife chattered away and Jamie’s voice caught as he translated, “She’s a lass, Claire.”

“Shh, love. Mama’s here,” I whispered in awe as the midwife handed me my squalling, slippery daughter.

Jamie brought his hand along side her plump cheek, fingers hovering a thin, translucent membrane that covered her face. The sense of wonder and excitement heightened as I realized what it was. She’d been born in a caul. I didn’t know the statistics, what did numbers matter anyway, but I knew this was an incredibly rare occurrence.

A warm tear dropped onto my shoulder as I heard Jamie murmur in amazement, “A dhia, Claire, she’s beautiful.”


	7. Tuesday's Child (Jamie's POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is Brianna's birth story, same as the previous chapter... but from Jamie's POV

Mid-day, November 22nd, 1543; Beauly, Scotland.  
Jamie.

“I made a nice broth for your wife, Jamie, lad.” Beauly’s cook and resident mother hen, as well as one of the midwives, handed me a tray brimming with food. “Any day now, aye?”

I accepted it and smiled warmly, thanking her. “Your spoil us, Mrs Gordon and, aye, the bairn could come any day. Sooner rather than later if his parents have any say in the matter.”

“You don’t,” she chortled, shooing me out of her kitchens.

My bringing meals to share in our rooms had become a necessity after a close call on one of the stone staircases last month. Fortunately, I had been there to steady Claire before she actually fell, but it was enough to scare us both into a change of routine. Mrs Gordon had heartily approved and leapt at the opportunity to dote on my heavily expectant wife.

Knocking soft enough as to not wake Claire should she be asleep, but loud enough to be heard should she be awake, I eased my way into our rooms.

I noticed bed held an occupant as I quietly set the tray on the table. Claire hadn’t been sleeping well of late and I had hoped she would be able to rest while I was away. I turned to see a mass of wild curls emerge from the bedclothes, telling me she was awake but possibly not fully alert.

“Oh good, I’m glad ye were able to sleep for a time, mo nighean donn. Mrs Gordon made ye a tasty broth an’ a fresh batch of bannocks to go wi’ it. She asked of ye, wonderin’ how ye fare wi’ the bairn so near. Lady Janet too, tho I dinna ken wha’ she was about. I didna like the gleam in her eye.” I shook my head, thinking of the Laird’s often devious wife.

I had witnessed Lady Janet stir up trouble on many occasions, with only a word or a single expression.The woman was not to be trusted.

A muffled response came from the bed, something that sounded like “good morning,” as Claire’s arms reached over her head in a slow stretch. She shifted in her burrow, making her look very much like bear coming out of hibernation. She stared at me, blinking slowly, her brows drawn together in confusion. “Are you within the castle today?”

The bairn made waking fully a cumbersome affair for Claire, as was the way with everything she did at present, and seeing my wife in such a state never ceased to make me smile. I had learned the hard way that she didn’t find the humor in her struggle to wake, so I turned from the bed and began to dish up our meal in order to enjoy the moment.

“Nae, back to the stables wi’ me as soon as we’re done eatin’.”

My conscience twinged.

What if she needed me and I didn’t get the message in time? I tried to shove the thought aside, calling to mind Claire’s words when I voiced the very question.

It’s not like foaling, Jamie, it usually takes a while.

Once again, I had assumed this part of human reproduction to be something similar to what I had experienced in the stables. Also, bairns, unlike foals, did not come feet first on principle, although Claire told me Jenny’s wee Maggie had.

A rustle from the bed brought me back to the present and I asked, “Shall I bring ye anything special from the kitchens for dinner?”

Claire responded with a deep sigh, then added, “I really wish you wouldn’t.”

This gave me pause.

“No’ hungry?” I turned and studied her more closely. Something was off, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was. “Ye should eat somethin’, mo nighean donn, or the bairn will complain, aye?”

She didn’t look at me. Her eyes darted about the room, desperate to land on anything besides my face as she whispered, “I don’t think he’ll complain, he seems to be packing his bags at the moment.”

Packing his bags? He can’t exactly go anywhere.

A dhia, he isn’t going, he’s coming.

“Sh-should I fetch the midwife?” I asked around a quickly constricting throat.

Claire visibly flinched and slid deeper into the covers, shouting “No!”

I couldn’t stand being this far from her. Crossing the room in two bounds, I collapsed onto the floor beside the bed. Her eyes were scrunched shut, her brows bunched together in fear.

Please, my soul offered up in silent petition to my God, that she might be safe in the hours to come.

“Tha mi duilich,” I whispered as I tucked a stray curl behind her ear.

That they might be safe, she and the bairn.

Claire relaxed slightly at my touch, her hand catching mine. “I think I’m having contractions,” her eyes opened slightly, cloudy with self doubt, “but I’m not really sure.”

Leaning close, I asked “Wha’ can I do?”

“Will you hold me?” Her chin quivered with the request, tears threatening. .

I took the greatest care as I crawled into the bed beside her, easing myself beneath the covers. My arm slipped around her as I drew closer. I didn’t want to disturb the position she was in, knowing how difficult it was for her to find a comfortable one. Gently curving my body around hers, I placed a kiss just behind her ear.

I’m here, mo chridhe, my touch whispered.

I drew slow circles with my thumb on the back of her hand until her shoulders lost their rigidity. Slowly, I felt all of the tension leave her body as her breath evened out in sleep. My hands drifted to the swell of her abdomen.

Soon, I would hold my child in my arms.

What would he look like? Would he favor me or his mother?

The thought brought a smile to my face as one bairn looked much like another to me. I knew Claire held a much different opinion of the wee creatures and often commented on their unique features.

We had been referring to the bairn as a “him” since we knew he existed, and, while my heart hoped he would be a son to carry on my name and lineage, I knew without a doubt I would love a daughter just as much… maybe more.

A daughter who had her mother’s amber eyes, unruly hair, and untamable spirit.

Yes, I thought as I buried my face in Claire’s hair, maybe more.

…  
Dusk.

It seemed like Claire’s pains were growing closer together, but she wouldn’t let me keep track with my father’s pocket watch. Not yet, she’d told me, it would drive her crazy. I felt completely useless just sitting here waiting for something to happen.

“You’re pacing, Jamie,” Claire’s voice interrupted my tumultuous thoughts.

I turned to find her laughing at me without actually laughing out loud. It was a great skill of hers. I tried to think of what I had done or said to set her off this time, but came up blank.

“I suppose tha’ I am,” a sheepish grin spread across my face. Whatever it was, I’d do it again, just to see her smile. “Am I botherin’ ye? Should I pace in the other room?”

Her eyes narrowed as the smile disappeared, “If you so much as touch that door handle, James Fraser…”

“I willna.” I raised my hands in mock surrender before I placed them reassuringly on her shoulders.

Claire’s focus faded away and her brows furrowed in an expression I was becoming to know well: another pain was starting. She seemed to need something different with each one. My gentle touch with the last, a massage with the one before, and I couldn’t even get close to her with the one before that.

I hadn’t the foggiest idea what it would be this time.

“Promise?” Her voice shook.

“Aye, I promise,” I slid my hands down her arms and entwined my fingers in hers. “I promise I willna leave until ye tell me to an the midwife will have to tear me awa’ from yer side even then.”

“No,” She tried to move away from me, but I held fast. “I need you to stay with me the whole time.”

She didn’t mean while the bairn was coming in earnest, right? I had heard tales from other husbands and from what they said, I would be the last person on earth Claire would want to see.

“Ye willna want me here when–” I tried to explain but she cut me off and practically shook me as she tried to make her point.

“I can’t do this alone, Jamie! Not again!” Her eyes were wide with fear, plunging a knife straight into my heart. Not again. I hadn’t been there for the birth of our first child and we had lost her, our precious Faith. “I can’t – I won’t – do this without you. Please don’t ask me to, Jamie!”

I kissed her, my lips stemming her flow of words with the assurance of my presence. “If that is what ye wish, mo chridhe,” I murmured, “nothing on this earth or hell below will move me.”

…  
Around midnight.

Claire’s hands gripped the back of the room’s only chair, her knuckles turning white as she tried to breathe normally. The air came and went from her mouth in short puffs and I thought she might tip over if she didn’t take a deep breath soon.

“How long was that?” She asked thru gritted teeth.

The pains were noticeably closer together now, and I checked the pocket watch. Half past eleven. “Ten minutes since the last one.”

Claire groaned; whether it was out of pain or frustration, I didn’t know. I moved to stand behind her, running my thumbs over the taut muscles.

She melted into me, murmuring, “Right there.”

We stood this way, swaying together, for a good moment or two before she rounded on me, face contorted in pain. Claire buried her face on my chest and dug her fingers into my upper arms.

A dhia, she was strong.

“Jesus H Roosevelt Fucking Christ, this bloody hurts,” she spat.

Placing a kiss atop her head, I supported her as she leaned further into me. “I’m sending for the midwife after this one is done, mo nighean donn.”

Her head moved against me, telling me she agreed.

I let out a sigh of relief as I remembered that wee Michael MacNeil was sleeping in the passageway outside the door just for that purpose.

I would not have made it to Mrs Gordon’s rooms behind the kitchens and back in less than ten minutes, even in the daylight and her expecting me. Now that it was well after dark and she’d be asleep? No. I knew I wouldn’t want to leave Claire alone for that long and had assigned the task to my favorite stable lad.

My eyes slid shut, my nose still buried in her hair.

We swayed back and forth as the vice-grip of her contraction eased. The motion reminded me of our bairn’s cradle, which sat waiting in the corner. A lullaby my mother used to sing, one that Jenny had used with her own bairns, slowly came back to me. I sang it to Claire, to our unborn child, until her movements slowed and stopped all together.

“Jamie?” her voice was breathless, but regaining the strength that was truly Claire.

“Mhmm?”

“I love you,” She tilted her head up to look at me, a smile playing on her lips, “but you are a terrible singer.”  
…

Claire was between pains and had wanted to rest for a bit on the bed. I silently rejoiced for the opportunity to lay down. I wasn’t about to say it, but I thought the whole ordeal was just about as hard on me as it was her. I couldn’t stand to see her in pain like this and not be able to do something.

My inability to spare her from this, something that I had caused, was slowly sucking the strength from me like a leech. If I could take her pain upon myself and fight this battle for her, I would do it without a moment’s hesitation. But I couldn’t. I lay beside her utterly powerless against the ebbing and flowing of her womb’s tides.

Claire was asleep now, in the shallow slumber that was all her body would allow in the minutes between contractions. Her face was utterly serene as I lay beside her, my nose inches from hers. I thought we must be near the end of all of this. Something had to happen soon or I wasn’t sure how Claire would manage.

She had started to contradict her wishes with the last pains, almost as if she didn’t know herself what she wanted. She’d ask me to be close, but when I tried to touch her she growled at me. She’d say didn’t want me near her, but when I gave her space she dissolved into a puddle of tears.

It seemed couldn’t do anything right in my wife’s eyes.

A knock sounded at the door, signalling the arrival of the midwife, and Claire jolted awake.

“Jamie, don’t leave me,” she said in complete panic. Her pupils were dilated wide in the dim room and it only added to her look of sheer terror.

“Shh, mo chridhe, I willna,” whispered in her ear, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze and trying to will her back into the peace she had just moments before, “but I do have to let her in, aye?”

She set her jaw firmly, “No, you don’t. I know how this works. We can do it. I don’t want that woman touching me or my baby.”

A shudder ran thru me as I realized she was completely serious. “I have nae doubt ye could do it, Sassenach, but dinna ken tha’ I can.”

My stomach dropped at the thought of delivering a bairn, let alone my bairn and by myself.

“You’ve delivered foals before. It’s not terribly different.” Claire pulled me closer, wrapping her arms tightly around my neck.

Giving minor assistance to a laboring horse and delivering my child solo were far from the same thing and I told her as much.

Before she could reply, another knock sounded and we could hear Mrs Gordon call out in Gaelic, “‘Tis me, Mrs Gordon, Jamie lad. May I come in?”

The fact that Claire could hold only the simplest of conversations in the language and Mrs Gordon couldn’t speak a word of English or French hit me like a bolt of lightning. How much of the midwife’s instructions would she understand when she was in considerable pain and scared out of her mind?

I could do something. I could help Claire.

I planted a kiss on Claire’s forehead and somehow got her to let go of me. There was a spring in my step as I crossed the room, for I now had something to do that would maybe ease Claire’s pain: I could translate.

A midwife’s job was to help women give birth, aye?

Then it stood to reason that by helping the midwife, I was helping Claire.

…

“This is all happening as it should, aye?” I asked Mrs Gordon a bit uneasily.

“Yes, lad.” She gave me a smile and a reassuring pat on the arm. “Things tend to take a while with the first bairn.”

I flinched and she immediately apologized.

“I’m sorry, Jamie. We remember the ones we lost as we hold tight to the ones we have, aye?”

Claire’s anxious voice asked from behind me, “What did she say, Jamie?”

Covering Mrs Gordan’s weathered hand in mine, I patted it in understanding and turned to my wife, “She says all is well.”

“Maybe somewhere in there, but not the last part,” she responded with a cold look to the midwife, seeing right thru my attempt to smooth things over.

“She spoke wi’out thinking, mo nighean donn. Dinna hold it against her,” I said gently.

Her face fell as she whispered, “Faith.”

“Aye, ‘twas her we were speaking of,” I kissed Claire gently between her brows. “I gave ye my promise, and I still ken it to be true, this time will be different.”

…  
About 4:00am

I wasn’t sure, but I thought we were wearing a pathway into the floor. We made the same loop again and again as Claire’s pains continued to grow closer and closer together. She clung fiercely to my right arm to steady herself as we slowly moved about the room

Without warning, she came to a sudden halt. A sort of breathless gasp escaped her lips as I heard something drip onto the floor. Claire pulled up the hem of her shift, muttering, “Damn, here we go.”

I looked down to see a small puddle growing between her feet. Quickly stepping out of the liquid’s path, I commented wryly, “Ye havena used tha’ one in a while, Sassenach.”

Fuck, as usual, had been her curse of choice in the last few hours.

Mrs Gordon shuffled over to us, commenting on the color and quantity of Claire’s waters. While this wasn’t exactly the same in foaling, I had a vague idea that this was a good sign and patted Claire reassuringly on the shoulder.

Another pain seemed to overtake Claire on the heels of the last and she pulled me towards her, groaning as she buried her face in my chest. Claire had two fistfuls of my sark that she was making good use of. Her forehead pressed against my sternum, almost as if she were headbutting me.

I wouldn’t blame her. I had gotten her into all of this, after all. It would only seem fitting that she use me in such a way

I ran my hands up and down her back, remembering how she had liked a gentle massage with some of her other pains. “I ken, a ghraidh, I’ve got ye,” I whispered soothingly in her ear.

She stiffened and before I realized what she was aiming for, she had a firm grasp of my clipeachd. I let out an undignified yelp and quickly pulled away from her.

“Smart lass.” Mrs Gordon cackled as she moved about the room, “She knows what she’s about. I’m surprised she’s waited this long to do that to you.”

I stared down at my wife in mute astonishment as the creases of pain started to smooth across her brow and a small smile began to form. Not risking another go at this, I held her away from me at arm’s length. She couldn’t reach me, but I could reach her.

“What was that?” She asked, slightly panting as she tried to catch her breath.

“She says she’s surprised ye havena done tha’ wi’ every pain,” I translated.

Mrs Gordon was still grinning as she arranged her necessary items for the fourth time on the table and I wondered how much trouble the two of them could get into if they spoke the same language.

Claire’s voice pulled me back to her, “You hadn’t said anything stupid enough to warrant it before now.”

All I had said was ‘I ken’ and ‘I’ve got ye!’

I’d reassured her many times with the second phrase, so I assumed she had taken offense to the first… I suppose I didn’t really know what she was going thru.

“You are the first husband I’ve ever had attend his bairn’s birth.” The midwife turned to me, hand on her hip as she looked me up and down. Her eyes were filled with amusement and satisfaction. “You must be quite the lover if she wants you here, being she knows well ‘tis your lovemaking that got her into this mess. I’m impressed, most men run for the heather at the first opportunity. A master ironmonger himself couldn’t have made a created a stronger set than yours.”

She winked at me and added, “Very impressed indeed, Jamie lad.”

I was still trying to decide whether I should ignore her comment or reply when Claire half laughed, half groaned. Looking down, I found the corners of her lips tugging upwards thru her pain.

“You have to tell me what she said to make you blush like a schoolgirl.”

Rubbing the back of my neck in embarrassment, I gave her the rough idea of what Mrs Gordon had said. A full smile broke out across Claire’s face as leaned into me. “She’s right about one thing,” she whispered, copying how I rolled my ‘r’s. “You are a verra good lover, indeed.”

I smiled ruefully, wrapping my arms around her. She loved to mimic my burr and I loved to hear her try it.

“But,” she paused, her eyes soft, “It’s your heart of gold that’s keeping you here.”

She pulled my lips to hers in a kiss warm with affection, one that spoke of the emotions and desires we weren’t able to put into words.

…  
Around 6:00 am

I gently lifted Claire onto the bed, my heart breaking as I watched her desperately search for a comfortable position. Her brow was permanently furrowed now, the lines of pain never really relaxing between contractions. She became more and more agitated by the second, prompting me to perch beside her on the mattress.

“Please,” Claire looked to me as she grabbed hold of my arm, “Sit behind me.”

Carefully and slowly, I inched my way between her and the pillows. I backed up against the headboard to give me as much room behind her to adjust in as possible, then slid my arms about her. She melted into me immediately as her body touched mine.

“I’m here, mo chridhe.”

She nodded, her eyelids lowering as she concentrated on what her body was telling her.

I looked up as Mrs Gordon slid nimbly onto the bed. She lifted the hem of Claire’s shift up and placed a calm, reassuring hand on her thigh as she, presumably, checked how things were going. “You’re doing wonderful, lass.”

A small measure of relief washed thru me as I heard the words.

This woman had brought half of Beauly into the world. If she said things were going well, then I had no reason to doubt her. I gently placed my hand atop the swell of the bairn to tell Claire the woman’s words when another pain began to build. I felt the muscles of Claire’s abdomen contract, astonishing me with the strength and force of it.

Her eyes flew open and she pressed her shoulders into me. “I don’t want to do this, Jamie!” she cried.

I met Mrs Gordon’s gaze and she smiled, assuring me that all was well.

“Aye, a graidh, I ken ye dinna,” I crooned in her ear as I helped her shift into a more comfortable position, “but ye must. The bairn will be here soon.”

Her voice was unlike I had ever heard it, so completely overwhelmed in her pain and fear. “No!” she insisted.

I carefully turned her in my arms until she could see me. She looked past me, fixated on a spot behind my head on the wall. I lifted my hand to her cheek and gently brushed away her tears as I lowered my lips to hers. “We’ll do this together, aye?” I whispered, “I’ll be yer strength when ye need me.”

Her lips quivered as she replied, “I always need you.”

…

“I can’t push anymore, Jamie,” Claire whimpered in my arms, “I think he’s stuck.”

Claire had responded with the strength of ten men to her body’s urge to push again and again. The midwife praised her with every effort and so, in turn, had I, but she was quickly becoming discouraged.

“No, mo nighean donn, the bairn is big but the midwife says he is almost here.” I murmured, “All is well.”

“I want to be done. I just want to hold my baby, Jamie,” Claire begged as she lifted her hand to my cheek.

I took hold of it, kissing it gently, then moved it lower to show her the miracle that I could now begin to see. Brushing her fingertips against the small bulge that was starting to emerge, I whispered. “He will be here soon, mo chridhe.”

A low, guttural sound came from Claire as she started to bear down once more.

“That’s the way, lass,” Mrs Gordon encouraged as she took hold of Claire’s feet, eyes fixated between my wife’s legs. Claire dug her fingers into my thighs, tipping her head back as she let out a sound that made the very blood within me run cold.

I relayed the midwife’s instructions with half a brain, translating to the best of my abilities as I realized that was my child’s head exiting my wife’s body.

“Well done, verra well done!” I praised as slowly, but steadily, the bairn’s head was born. “Jest one more an’ he’ll be here, mo ghraidh.”

…

The midwife beamed as she announced “You have a beautiful daughter!”

“She’s a lass, Claire,” I whispered, finding it hard to breathe as Mrs Gordon placed the her in Claire’s outstretched arms.

The bairn out another lusty wail as she told us just what she thought of being born.

“Shh, love.” Claire crooned, “Mama’s here.”

I have a daughter.


End file.
